Do but look on her eyes, they do light As Love's star when it riseth! And from her arch'd brows, such a grace As alone there triumphs to the life All the gain, all the good of the elements' strife. Have you seen but a bright lily grow, Before rude hands have touch'd it? Or swan's down ever? Or have smell'd o' the bud of the briar? Or the 'nard in the fire? Or have tasted the bag of the bee? O so white! O so soft! O so sweet is she! Ben Jonson. XXI. A FRAGMENT. HE that loves a rosy cheek, But a smooth and steadfast mind, Where these are not, I despise Thomas Carew. XXII. EPITAPH ON SALATHIEL PARRY, A CHILD OF WEEPE with me all you that read And know for whom a teare you shed, 'Twas a child that so did thrive As Heaven and Nature seem'd to strive Yeeres he numbred scarce thirteene Yet three fill'd Zodiackes had he beene And did act (what now we mone) As sooth, the Parca thought him one, So, by error, to his fate They all consented; But viewing him since (alas, too late) And have sought (to give new birth) But being so much too good for earth, XXIII. FAIN would I, Chloris, ere I die, Ben Jonson. Whose breast has all the wealth I have, XXIV. Unknown "WHAT WIGHT HE LOVED." SHALL I tell you whom I love? Nature did her so much right, In as many Virtues dight As ere yet embraced a hart, Wit she hath without desire To make knowne how much she hath ; And her anger flames no higher Than may fitly sweeten wrath. Full of pity as may be, Tho' perhaps not so to me! Reason masters every sense, And her virtues grace her birth; Lovely as all excellence, Modest in her most of mirth : Likelihood enough to prove Onely worth could kindle love. Such she is, and if you know Such a one as I have sung, Be she browne, or faire, or so, Be assured 'tis she or none That I love, and love alone. William Browne. XXV. THE INQUIRY. AMONGST the myrtles as I walk'd, "Thou fool," said Love, "know'st thou not this, In every thing that's good, she is? In yonder tulip go and seek, There thou may'st find her lip, her cheek; In yon enamell'd pansy by, There thou shalt have her curious eye; In bloom of peach, in rosy bud, There wave the streamers of her blood; With that I stopt. Said Love, "these be, And as these flowers, thy joy shall die, And all thy hopes of her shall wither, Like these short sweets thus knit together." Thomas Carew. XXVI. A DIALOGUE BETWEEN HIMSELF AND MISTRESS ELIZA WHEELER, UNDER THE NAME OF AMARILLIS. (H.) My dearest love, since thou wilt go, And leave me here behind thee; For love or pity, let me know The place where I may find thee. (A.) In country meadows, pearl'd with dew, There, filling maunds with cowslips, you (H.) What have the meads to do with thee, Live thou at Court, where thou may'st be Let country wenches make 'em fine (A.) You set too high a rate upon I prithee stay. (A.) I must away; Robert Herrick. |